Never Will Give
by BentReeds
Summary: The story of Neville after fifth year when he comes home to an empty house. Will he panic or will he become a little more independent? Will freedom get to him?
1. Chapter 1

**Hello! This is a story that I thought up of while reading _Realizations_ by ****Wishweaver****. Except it's a bit different, same start, different direction and ending.** **I hope you like it! It's been a blast for me to do a bit of free writing. This story will go very slowly, not like my other story. Probably updated very scarcely, even though I enjoy it so much.**

**Please give me some feedback (but no flames!) in your reviews. It would mean a lot to me, I put a lot of heart and soul into this. **

**Thank you,**

**BentReeds**

**Nev**er W**ill** Giv**e **

Neville Longbottom, geek extraordinaire, stepped off the scarlet engine of the Hogwarts Express for the fifth time of his life. It never felt the same, each time he left Hogwarts. He always felt like he was leaving a bit of himself behind, every year, only to be reunited with himself at the beginning of the school year again. His only true home was Hogwarts. He did have a decent family, but it wasn't the same feeling he got, traveling through the labyrinthine halls, walking through towers, eating in the Great Hall. No place would ever compare to Hogwarts. No sir-ree, not ever.

He picked up his suitcase and attempted to smooth his hair out. Later in the school year he had gotten Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil, two Gryffindor girls, to give him a hair cut. They had ended up, instead of giving him a haircut, giving him a shaggy look that his Grandmother would in no way approve of. She liked the school boy haircut that Neville absolutely hated. He almost cherished his hair now. It was one of the few things that he had done on a whim, and he actually liked it.

Neville waved to Harry, now a good friend of his, and walked over to join his group of friends in the crowd. Wheeling his suitcase after him, Neville reflected the past events that had brought him closer to Harry Potter, The Chosen One, and The Boy Who Lived.

Neville would never have believed anyone if they had told him that in his fifth year he would be in the Department of Mysteries fighting Death Eaters, but it had happened. The Department of Mysteries had happened. He had fought Death Eaters alongside Harry Potter. He had fought with the Golden Trio, and he had lived. The time spent there in the Ministry was painful, but it would always hold a place in his heart.

It had been the first real time that he had put his life on the line and his skills to the test. _Really _put them to the test, the exhilarating feeling of being face to face with a Death Eater. He wouldn't trade it for the world. His grandmother had always told him about his father and mother being great Aurors. When he was little he had always thought that that was too dangerous for him, too reckless, why would anyone do that? At least now he understood why they enjoyed it, no matter how much they had paid for it.

"Hey, Neville," Harry said. He looked tired and a little worn out. Sirius's death had had a bad effect on him. "Have you seen your grandmother?"

"Hi, Neville!" Hermione chirped, attempting to brighten Harry's dark spirit.

"Neville," Ron said, inclining his head ever so slightly toward him.

"I—I haven't seen my grandmother yet," he said, slightly confused now. Harry was right; his grandmother would be all over him right now. Worrying and fussing and telling him about what his crazy uncles had done. "Have you?"

"Don't worry, Neville." Hermione said, "I'm sure she'll show up eventually. It's not like _her_ to _forget_ you."

Neville noticed the jibe at his memory but brushed it off. Why did everyone always remind him about how much he forgot? It's not like he forgot anything of _theirs_. He forgot everything of his. The Remembrall incident still burned in his mind as clearly as ever. He still felt slightly hurt and resentful; his memory _had_ gotten better, if any of _them_ had remembered to notice. Neville began to regret coming over here.

"Hello!" chirped the infamous Mrs. Weasley, who had appeared behind Hermione. "Are you ready Ron? You didn't forget anything, did you? Fred! George! Stop that!"

Fred stood up indignantly from where he and his twin were giving prank candy to some first years. "Goodness, you call yourself our mother? I'm George!"

"I'm too old to fall for that, Fred," Mrs. Weasley sighed. "Stop bribing those children."

Fred and George rejoined the group with wide grins that only faltered slightly at Harry's crestfallen face. Neville saw them stash a pocketful of Galleons before turning toward their mother and giving her an innocent face. Neville was reminded of when the Weasley twins had flown out of the entrance hall on their brooms, leaving a stunned Umbridge in their wake. He held them in the highest regard for giving that witch what she deserved.

"I suppose you're going to join us the second half of the summer, Harry? I've got a nice home meal already planned out for when you're coming, it would be an awful waste if you didn't."

Harry's face brightened and Neville saw him smile. It was a small smile, but a smile nonetheless. "I'd love to Mrs. Weasley."

"And you're invited too Hermione," she said, straightening up and looking down at Hermione with a kind smile. "Ginny would miss you terribly if you left. House full of boys and all, she get's lonely."

"Of course, Mrs. Weasley," Hermione smiled happily and nodded her head. "I wouldn't miss staying at your house for the world.

Mrs. Weasley brightened at the last statement and glanced over her shoulder to see the Grangers waving to their daughter and her group of friends.

"I think I see the Drs. Granger," said Mrs. Weasley. Hermione waved to her parents and said goodbye to every one. She walked over to her parent to be received in a warm hug. Neville looked around him for his grandmother; he figured that the train station was still too crowded to find her from where he was, in the center of the mob.

"Are you looking for your grandmother, Neville?" Mrs. Weasley asked Neville. Neville nodded back and looked at her with a 'Do you know?' expression. "No, I'm afraid I haven't seen her. Perhaps she was stuck in traffic, everyone's going the muggle way these days... after...," she trailed off looking sheepish.

"Well..., we better be on our way boys." Mrs. Weasley gestured to Harry and Ron. "Harry, I saw your uncle outside the platform, he refused to enter through the wall. Ron, your brother, Bill, wants to see you. We all have some things to talk about. It was nice seeing you, Neville!"

She waved and Harry and Ron said goodbye half-heartedly. Neville watched the back of them retreat through the platform wall. The crowd was thinning out around him and Neville could clearly see a way around him. No grandmother, no crazy uncles or aunts... Where were they? They couldn't have forgotten that he was there... Could they have?

Wheeling around his trunk he lifted it off the trolley he had been using and left the platform wall. Chances were, she was outside and waiting patiently for Neville to get a move on and leave. He took a deep breath and walked through the bricks, he would never be able to get used to that. No matter what year he was in, the bricks still looked like bricks.

Muggles stood loitering around King's Cross station. Neville watched the guard direct a woman to another platform. He picked up his trunk and walked toward the guard. In his mind, he reviewed a description of his grandmother in his mind. The clothes, the face, that attitude, height, hair color. He summarized that and approached the guard, he had to have seen her at one point, and it was hard to miss that way that she dressed. If anyone knew if she would be here, it would be the guard. Neville never doubted muggle ability. He almost thought that he was a squib when he was younger.

"Excuse me, sir?" he asked politely. The guard turned to look at him up and down. Then look at the large suitcase that he was dragging. "I was wondering if you have seen my grandmother. She was supposed to pick me up, you see. She must've gotten lost in the crowd, because I never saw her. She has black hair and has a big red hand bag and a fox fur scarf. She also has a green dress."

"Hmm," the guard looked around him. "No, I've not seen anyone looking like that since last year. I think I would remember such a character."

"Oh," Neville's face fell. "Thank you."

"Don't sweat it kid," that guard said. "I'm sure she'll turn up soon. If not, you come to me and you can use the phone in the office. We'll call a relative and you can find her later. Traffic was bad today, maybe she got stuck."

Neville considered Mrs. Weasley's statement from before, about how no one traveled by magical means anymore. If there was muggle traffic, then his grandmother could be stuck in that. He could easily imagine her stuck in a car on the road, throwing her red handbag at the person in front of her, shouting, 'Move it!' He chuckled to himself and smoothed his hair over again.

"Thanks, sir."

"Don't mention it. Someone as young as you shouldn't be alone," the guard said. "Tell me if she doesn't show; I'll be here all night."

_Someone as young as you... Someone as young as you...? What does that mean? _Neville thought furiously. He was almost sixteen this summer! He wasn't a kid anymore! What right did that guard have? He winced and thanked the guard once more before walking away, annoyed and disturbed slightly.

Why did everyone insist on treating Neville like he couldn't handle anything? He handled himself against the Death Eaters. He had fought with Harry to the end. Why wasn't that enough? He wasn't a kid! He was a wizard. Neville angrily slammed his trunk down on a bench and the woman standing near him jumped. This was unfair. He never got the respect that he wanted. All that everyone would ever remember was the bumbling boy from first year, the boy that forgot things easily, and the boy that couldn't take care of himself.

Well, that was it. He had had enough. He looked around furiously, making up his mind. He was going to prove it to everyone. Standing up, he left his trunk on the bench. He exchanged a silver Sickle to a dumb muggle for fifty 'pounds' and purchased a ticket from the ticket booth. He was going home. His grandmother wasn't there, and he wasn't going to wait for her. It was getting to be late anyway.

The clock struck ten o' clock as Neville Longbottom stepped onto the commuter train.


	2. Chapter 2

**BentReeds**

**Nev**er W**ill** Giv**e**

Neville had missed the tranquility of a train. The whir as he passed by, traveling through England he laid back in his seat. He had a compartment to himself. The watch on his wrist blinked midnight. Neville patted the pocket with his wand in it.

Event though he was alone, he wasn't afraid. He was still angry, unfortunately, at almost everyone. He was mad at everyone for seeing so little in him. It was time to prove him self. It was time for Neville to step up. It was time for Neville to be his father's son. His own thoughts nearly brought tears to his eyes and he began to regret what he had done.

His father's son... would his father's son exchange a Sickle for muggle money? Would his father's son be angry at everyone when he knew that they only cared? Would his father's son be alone, at midnight, on a train toward the suburbs of London? Would his father's son have done anything like what Neville had done? Would he have gotten mad because a guard had called him a kid?

No. No he wouldn't. But Neville was sick and tired of being treated as an inferior. He sat up straight and buried his hands in his hair, wondering what he had done. There were Death Eaters on the loose and Neville had bought a train ticket to travel home by himself with no supervision. But why did he always need someone looking after him? He wanted to do something by himself. He pulled his hands in front of him

He had gotten a hair cut by himself. His grandmother would hate it too. He chuckled to himself and ran his fingers through his hair. Is freedom a hair cut? No. But it had felt like one when he had gotten it done. Feeling a little silly, Neville ruffled up his hair and was delighted to see his reflection look messy in the windows of the train.

Suddenly a new feeling filled him, not despair, not anger, not loneliness. What was it? Freedom, he was free. He was the only person in this compartment. He was alone, finally. Neville could have whooped for joy from the happiness that had filled him. For this entire train ride, he could do anything he wanted. His hear sunk a little at the thought that he would eventually have to get off the train and face his relatives. But for now, he lay back down on the seat and ruffled his hair happily. He didn't want this new feeling of elation to go away. He felt happy. He was free.

Neville laughed aloud and sung the Hogwarts song loudly and obnoxiously. He kicked up his feet and took off his cloak. Feeling particularly odd, he opened the window and threw out the cloak. It whipped away in the wind and Neville saw it disappear and land on a road beneath them. This had never happened to him.

He continued the school song the rest of the ride, adding his own lyrics and letting Trevor out for some air. Trevor croaked happily along with him, glad to see his owner so carefree.

The train slowed to a stop at about one in the morning, and hour later. Neville strode out of the doors and cast a charm on his trunk to make it lighter. Neville wasn't a fool. He knew the laws about underage wizardry. He also knew that this train station was packed with wizards, since it was relatively close to Diagon Alley. The ministry could detect spells from where they were, not from who had cast them. He wouldn't get into trouble; a charm that lightened luggage would not be abnormal in a train station.

He walked out of the station, his trunk trailing behind him and his hair ruffled up from when he had been on the train. The summer had made the nighttime nicely cool. He felt comfortable in his sweater and didn't bother with a jacket. Why bother? He strolled down the street and entered a cab.

"Winslow Neighborhood," he said curtly, while putting his trunk into the seat beside him and handing the driver the forty dollars he had left. He didn't know much about muggle money, but the cab driver certainly did. The man helped Neville count out the exact sum, caring far more for the money he was receiving than Neville's suspicious lack of knowledge about muggle currency.

The driver took off and they left for the busy streets of the suburb. Neville saw the change from city to suburb from the car seat window. He gazed as the houses, all uniform and arranged in rows, with their neat gardens and gates and clean lawns pass by. He desperately wished that his grandmother had picked a better spot for them to live. This place was depressing after a while, but Neville had lived there his entire life.

The driver stopped at the entrance to the neighborhood. Before Neville got out, he took out another Sickle and exchanged it for more muggle money. Neville thought that it would be wise to have this. He wanted to be able to get a ride whenever he needed.

Filled with his sense of newfound freedom, he walked to the front door of his house. For the first time in his life, he was ready to face his grandmother of doom and his crazy uncles and aunts. Never had he felt this way. But it all came crashing down as he turned the doorknob.

Click.

The knob stopped. It must be stuck. Neville tried it again.

Click... the sound of a locked door. Were they testing him again? Neville remembered when his Uncle Algie had dangled him off a balcony. He shuddered and pulled out his wand, and then he stopped. There weren't any wizards on this street. He wasn't allowed to use underage magic. His relatives knew that. What was he supposed to do if he couldn't use magic? He stashed his wand away and dropped his trunk.

"Gran...Gran are you there?" he banged loudly on the door to emphasize his point. "Open up, it's Neville. Don't try to do this; you know I can't use underage magic to open the door. This is stupid! Open the door, right now!"

Neville had never spoken more directly to his grandmother before; he had spoken back, but never disrespectfully. He continued to bang on the door until he thought that they must be too much asleep to hear him. He walked around to the back of the house. Stepping onto the porch he walked over to the various potted plants and reached into the roots of one particularly bizarre looking red plant. In the roots, Neville grasped a key and pulled it up. He held the key triumphantly.

Never had Neville been so glad that he had thought of a spare key in case he had locked himself out. He quickly unlocked the back door and stashed the key back into the pot. Neville could feel the plant twine its roots around the silver. He wiped his hands off on his jeans (his grandmother would kill him for that) and opened the door to the living room.

The house was dark, Neville had expected that, it was about one thirty now, so Neville switched on the lights. There was nobody there. They must be asleep. Neville walked through the living room to the front door and got his trunk out from the front porch. He leaned the trunk back against the wall and relocked that back porch, just in case.

Silently, he tip toed up the stairs. Without making any noise, he first made to check his aunt's room. She was a very heavy sleeper. He slowly opened the door and switched the hallway lights so he could see into the room and check if his aunt was okay. Neville observed an empty bed and blinked his eyes. He looked around the room. Empty. That was unheard of... His aunt would never leave the Longbottom house; she enjoyed torturing Neville too much!

He closed the door after getting a thorough look around his aunt's room. If his aunt wasn't there, then his Gran would be. His Gran was a very light sleeper, and would no doubt awaken as soon as Neville opened the door. Well, Neville didn't really mind. He didn't feel that his Gran could do anything to horrible to him. But he did wince at the thought of his crazy uncle.

He slowly creaked open the door to his grandmother's room. Neville shook his head. He blinked. He yawned. He went to the bathroom and splashed water on his face. He slapped him self silly. He banged his head on the door. He even plugged his nose and held his breath for a while. It couldn't be possible. It just couldn't... This wasn't happening. They were all in his uncle's room, yes, that was it. They were with his uncle.

Neville made a run for the end of the hall, to his uncle's room. He was no longer worried about making any noise. Beginning to panic, Neville threw open the door to his uncles bedroom and stared in shock. No one was there. Neville check all the bedrooms again. No one was there, no one. The entire house was empty.

Neville ran down the stairs and threw himself heavily into an armchair. He had to think. He had to clear his head and think this through. Maybe they were still looking for him at the train station. _At two in the morning,_ a voice in his head said. No. They couldn't be at the train station. They couldn't be. It was impossible. There was no way. His grandmother would never wait that long, she was impatient.

Why wasn't she here? There had to be a logical explanation. His uncle must have done something crazy. Yes, that was it. He must have done something. Neville sighed, satisfied with his answer. Then, his eyes fell upon the shelves.

The books were gone.

The books were never gone. He looked around madly. The photos were gone, the statues on the mantle piece, the jar of gum his uncle had. What had happened? They would never put those things away. They would never. Horror was stricken across his face. They had left him. They had left him alone for the summer. His family was gone. Neville Longbottom was on his own.

Neville started to breathe quickly. He ran into the kitchen and threw open the refrigerator. It was barely full of any food. Her threw open the cupboards. Some plates and cups were gone, a few remained. Neville ran his hand over the counter. He took another deep breath and reached for a quill.

_Wait. Don't panic. You can solve this. _Said the voice in his head, _don't forget, you're a Longbottom._ Neville dropped the quill that he held and walked calmly to the living room. He took out Neville and dropped him in his tank on the side of the wall. He dropped onto the bed and closed his eyes. _Wait the night out._ Neville obeyed the voice and threw a blanket from the cover onto the couch. Grabbing a pillow from upstairs he fell asleep on the couch.

In the morning, he would figure this out. In the morning.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N Thank you so much to those people who took the time to read this story. Special thanks to ****King Genbu of Thunder**** for reviewing. This next part is something a bit unexpected, but a favorite scene of mine from this story.**

**Please review and enjoy the chapter,**

**BentReeds**

**Nev**er W**ill **Giv**e**

Neville blinked his eyes blearily from the sunlight. He shifted on the couch and heard the disgruntled croak of Trevor. He blinked and looked around the room. He still had his blanket and pillow, his trunk was leaning against the wall, and the sunlight was streaming in from the window. Trevor looked interestingly at Neville, croaking again. The coffee table was askew; Neville must have kicked it during the night

Neville righted himself and threw off the blanket. He had had the most horrible dream... something about being all alone in the house. He rubbed his head and ruffled his shaggy hair again. Yawning, he stood and went to the kitchen. In no time, Neville would be munching on the home made pancakes that his aunt should be cooking right now. He walked up to the counter and sat down. He looked around.

Where was everyone? Where was— Neville put his head in his hands and groaned as he realized something about his dream. It was real. His dream wasn't just any dream, it was his life. He buried his hands in his hands as the memories from last night came flooding back. The rooms upstairs were empty. The shelves were empty. The books were gone. What was he going to do?

The question that he could seem to shake was _where_.Where were they? Why had they left him? He was hurting now, his emotions were shattered. His own family, betrayed by his own family... They had left him to rot by himself in the house. They left no money, they left no food. Well, there was some food, but certainly not enough for the whole summer. He ruffled his hair in frustration.

Should he call someone? The Weasley's were too busy with the war, Potter, and their lives. They didn't need Neville coming into the picture. He barely knew them. Dumbledore was out of the question. He had a dark lord to defeat. The Drs. Granger were nice, but he had only met them once, it would be imposing to ask to stay with them.

Quicker than he could think, the anger came back. Quicker then Neville could think he jumped from his seat, strode into the living room, picked up an empty glass picture frame and threw it against the wall.

**Gone, they were gone!** They had left him. He screamed in frustration and paced the room. No food, no money, no nothing! They cared; oh, they cared enough to not say anything. They cared enough to not to leave anything. They cared to forget about him. Or they cared enough to just say, "Let's leave Neville at the train station; he's old enough to take care of himself." Neville stopped pacing. He sighed as the words echoed in his head.

**He was** old enough to take care of himself... he was _old _enough to take care of himself. He _was_ old enough to take care of himself. Neville remembered when the guard from the train station had called him a kid. He had said that he was young. He had acted as though Neville couldn't make it on his own. He was like everyone else, telling him that he just wasn't good enough.

Neville stiffened and straightened his back. He stopped pacing and set his jaw in utter determination_. No money... I could make money. No food... I'll buy food. No one... I'll move._ The feeling of freedom that he had on the train returned, full force, he was free. It was official; he no longer was tied to anything here. He didn't have to do anything. He could leave right now.

Neville looked around the room. If they didn't want the house, Neville wouldn't stay there. It reminded him too much of what he was like when he was young, when he _was_ young. He wasn't a boy anymore. He smiled. It was over. He wasn't Neville, the little boy who needed a Remembrall, in fact, he hated Remembralls. He ran to his trunk and grabbed the Remembrall in one of his cloaks pockets. He rubbed the ball, it wasn't red... it was clear white smoke inside. Neville would never forget a thing again. With all his might he slammed the Remembrall against the floor. It shattered next to the broken glass picture frame.

Neville, exhilarated now, ran to his trunk and shuffled through his things, pulling out several things that simply made him a boy. Teddy bear pajamas, a diary, letters, and a few books among other personal things. He took these all and threw them in the fire. Putting some wood underneath it he lit it the muggle way and watched as it all washed away. Neville felt like he could breathe now. He was released. The fire died out quickly.

He pulled out his wand from his pocket, his father's wand. Did he really want to let that go? Neville considered it before pocketing it again. It had been damaged in the Department of Mysteries. He would get a new one, even though his father's worked fine despite the damage. He wanted a new wand. He wanted a wand just for him. There was only one place for wands, Ollivanders. Someplace he had always wanted to go into, but never had.

Neville closed his trunk, now full of only clothes and a few other things that would seem normal and didn't specify to him. He lit the fire again and grabbed a handful of floo powder from the bowl next to the fireplace. Stepping into the flames, the last thing that Neville saw was Trevor jumping onto a tock in his tank. Neville was consumed in green fire.

He fell out of the fire at the Leaky Cauldron. Stumbling to right himself he dusted off his clothes. A few people were here this early, not many though. Neville's eyes swept the room. A wizard was sitting with the Daily Prophet in his hands. His tea was being stirred with his wand, a dangerous move, but it did enhance the taste marvelously at times, and at other times it blew up. Not many witches and wizards used their wand in such a way for a reason.

The witch that normally cleaned the place was sweeping away a few dust bunnies. They hopped merrily away from the broom and into the trashcan. The witch jumped for joy and slammed the can shut with a bang, and then she left for her morning break.

Neville saw a few other customers, but none too noticeable. No one registered his entrance and no one moved when Neville moved. He was invisible. This made Neville feel even more confident than ever. No one would even recognize him. No one would bother him. He walked over to the barman, Tom.

Tom nodded in his direction while he cleaned out a large whisky glass. "What can I do for you, Mr. Longbottom?" Tom knew him, but that didn't bother Neville. Tom knew everyone.

"Could you get me the Daily Prophet?" he asked.

Tom looked around him, looking for his grandmother. Seeing no one, he eyed Neville. "I don't like asking questions of customers, but I have to ask this one...Where'd your Gran go?" He looked around. "I don't see her."

Neville sighed. "I don't know," he answered truthfully. He didn't want to lie to Tom. Neville pulled a few Knuts from his pocket and made note to him self that he was running out of money, and fast. He placed the money on the counter and hoped that Tome would ask no more question. Tom looked at Neville hard, but then dismissed it and smiled.

"She can be a bit overbearing, huh?"he smiled wisely and got a copy of the Daily Prophet for Neville from behind his counter. "I'm glad she's letting you get out on your own. You look like you need it. I've always said that a child can't grow up until a parent lets go. Your Gran means well, but she needs to let you go." Humming, he took the Knuts and bid Neville goodbye.

"Thanks for the Prophet," Neville said. He left the Leaky Cauldron and stepped into the back room. His spirits were soaring; Tom hadn't been too much trouble. He had even inspired Neville to work harder. Neville walked lightly forward to the brick wall facing him. He drew out his father's wand and tapped the bricks.

Slowly, ever so slowly, the bricks rearranged them selves to the entrance of Diagon Alley. The bustling streets were still crowded, no matter what time of day. He walked through the entrance and he could here the bricks slide back into place behind him. Happily, evoked by his new freedom, he bought an ice cream from Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor and sat down to flip through the Prophet,

He sneered in disgust at the headline of the paper. **HARRY POTTER: THE CHOOSEN ONE OR THE CRAZY ONE?** Why the Ministry would ever approve of this garbage was amazing to him. Neville began the long walk to the end of the Alley. He needed to walk a little, waste the energy that was building up in him. Neville walked as he thought about the past year.

Too much corruption, too many lies and cover ups from the Ministry... too many idiots. Umbridge was a perfect example. She was a tool for the Minister, a horrible conniving woman that deserved her fate in the forest. It was everywhere around school that the famous high Inquisitor had been trampled by centaurs. She had made a comment about half-breeds to them. They did not take it lightly. She deserved it though, horrible woman.

Neville looked down at his hands where the back of it still read "I will listen when I am wrong." He had gotten that after class. It was foolish of him, really, but no one messed with his friends and got away with it. He had said a few words that angered her and received detention. A lot of students had received detentions. And a lot of students now had scars on the back of their hands, mainly students from the DA who had stuck up for Harry.

Then, there was Percy, another Ministry idiot. Who in the world would be gullible enough to fall for all the lies that the Ministry told? Percy would. He would believe them over his entire family. That sickened Neville. Who would do that to your own brothers and sisters? Not to mention how heart broken Mrs. Weasley must have been. Neville remembered seeing Percy follow Umbridge around like a puppy dog. Neville solemnly promised to himself that he would never grovel like that.

The Minister was another one. Another Ministry fool, no wonder his name was Fudge, you could break him, melt, him and eat him. He was such an easy target it was laughable. Malfoy and other prestigious pureblood families had preyed on him, but that wasn't an issue anymore; a new Minister was going to be chosen. Apparently, people didn't like how Fudge was doing things... who knew?

Neville rounded the corner, lost in thought about the Ministry. He rolled the Daily Prophet up in his hands and came face to face with Ollivanders. Next to the open sign was another wooden sign with red lettering: 'Help Wanted.'


	4. Chapter 4

**Hello!**

**I'm very sorry for not updating sooner, school and orientation and all that jazz kept me extremely busy. Not to mention the computer was out for a while, had to clean off a few programs that were slowing it down. But, now I'm updating.**

**Superfrog: I've been reading a lot on the character, Neville, and I know what you're saying. He _is_ a bit bold. Although, I think that gradual change would cause Neville to second guess his decision. So I decided on radical change, meaning that he came to the decision on a whim. Since he made the decision, he won't back down on it; I wouldn't think Neville would forget a promise made to him self. I do plan to show little Neville relapses. He does have the guts to get things done, that's what makes him Gryffindor, but he is shy while doing it. In this chapter he's thrown off by Ollivander, which I put in as a Neville moment. Thank you so much for reviewing, thanks even more for commenting! Tell me what you think!**

**Naima: I love your name! Thank you so much for reviewing, I promise I'll update more; I have a lot planned for this story (If I can get off my lazy butt and write it down). **

**King Genbu of Thunder: I do that too, the anonymous review thing. I guess I'm too lazy on some days. Thank you so much for reviewing twice and thank you again for the anonymous review hint! Sorry for the late update.**

**Nev**er W**ill **Giv**e**

The bell on the top of the door rung as Neville stepped through to the threshold of Ollivanders. It was an old shop, everyone in the wizarding world knew. Neville knew this too as he observed the shelves upon shelves of long thin boxes. He knew that every long, thin box contained a wand of power and value to a witch or wizard out there, alive, or yet to be born.

Dust was piling up in small corners of the shop, yet it never seemed to reach the air, which smelt clear and cold. His eyes drifted to the ceiling. Not many noticed, but the ceiling had to have been as extraordinary as the Great Hall. Old runes were molded into the top. Neville stopped to gaze at it a little longer before his head lowered at he stared straight into the pale, distant eyes of Mr. Ollivander.

Neville jumped and felt his heart flutter. The wizard's face had to have been only a few inches away. Mr. Ollivander's eyes of silver could kill a werewolf should he dare approach. Neville fixed his gaze with Ollivanders and raised his chin.

"Admiring the ceiling...?" Mr. Ollivander said, "Nice rune work, eh? My ancestors did that. Marvelous work... marvelous work, you're in here to buy a wand." He said his last phrase as a statement, not a question. "Yes, yes... I remember your father's wand... You're still in possession of it, correct?"

"Er—" Neville pulled his father's wand out. The crack through the center was visible when you turned the handle upside down. He shifted his feet under the silvery moon eyes and furrowed his eyebrows. He hoped that wandmakers took their work being damaged lightly. Mr. Ollivander could be unnerving. "It's—it's cracked and all. But it still works. Some powerful charms don't function properly. T-they're too much for it and nothing happens." He watched Mr. Ollivander's reaction carefully.

The old man had a thoughtful expression on his face, other than that he remained motionless. Neville's hand was still twiddling his wand nervously. "Yes," Ollivander said. "The core is exposed slightly, this wand is no good." He took the outstretched wand swiftly. His hands were a blur he placed a box on the desk and the wand vanished in its velvet lining.

"Now, for you," said Ollivander. He took out an old tape measurer. It jumped to life and began measuring Neville's height, waist, wrists, feet, everything. He saw soon that the tape measurer had been doing this on its own. Ollivander was sliding through the shelves, pulling out various boxes and adding them to a large pile in his arms. When he ran out of arm space, he piled them onto his head, balancing one on top of the other.

Returning to Neville, he placed the boxes in a neat pile next to him. The tape measurer disappeared with a pop; Neville jumped and turned his attention back to the wandmaker. He was sizing up a wand he held in his hand. It was light brown, similar to his old one.

"Here," Ollivander said curtly. "Try this one." Handing over the wand, he stepped back as a precaution. Then watched as Neville stood there, feeling very foolish, holding a wand. "Well, wave it around! Swish and flick, as our Professor Flitwick would say. Don't just stand there dawdling."

Neville wasted no time in pointing his wand at the old oak desk in front of the back room. He flicked his wrist ever so slightly. The desk burst into flames. Neville was quick to hand the wand back to Mr. Ollivander, now unnerved at how his wand choosing was coming out. "Not to worry, not to worry. We have plenty of wands to go through. I was wondering about that one, though. It seems you aren't as much like your father as I would think. Or as the world thinks, especially your grandmother..."

Ollivander tossed the wand he was now holding at the wall carelessly. Neville almost laughed from nervousness. The wand clattered to the floor. It seemed odd that he had taken so much time carrying and stacking them carefully, and then when he was finished he had simply thrown it against the wall. Ollivander pulled out another box from the left side of the pile and gently took of the top.

Neville had a weird premonition of what Ollivander was doing. "I-I'm not at all like my mother," he said. "I don't think that wand will do. I know what you're thinking and I don't want to be entirely like my parents. Everyone is always... _comparing_ me to them; I don't want my wand to do that, too."

Ollivander stopped, seemingly heeding the boy's word and tossed the box to where the other wand was lying on the floor. Taking out his own, extremely long and bleach white wand, Ollivander flicked his wrist. Almost all of the boxes he had selected were thrown violently against the wall. Ollivander remained calm and acted as though it were everyday that hundreds of wands were tossed against shops. Neville, however, jumped in surprise. _Does he do this everyday?_ He was beginning to think it would have been a better idea to just have owled Dumbledore.

Now, only a few wands remained in the neat small pile on the floor. Ollivander stood and addressed Neville. "Every Ollivander wand is hand crafted to perfection for the individual. Each wand has a core. Each core is unique in its own properties. Several more known cores are unicorn hair, dragon heartstring, and phoenix feather. These are the strongest." He regarded Neville. "But do not underestimate the value of the rare and unknown. Veela hair, mermaid scales, sphinx vein, and others could make a powerful wand for a witch or wizard."

Neville stood silent as Ollivander began his speech. He did not see how relevant it was to his statement about his mother's wand, but listened anyway. A man as old as Ollivander must have had many hard lessons in his life. Through those lessons, knowledge must have been gained. Neville listened as intently as he could on this little tidbit of information. One never knew when it might come in handy; the war was making everyone wary of what they didn't know.

"Brother cores will not fight each other," Ollivander continued, reaching down to pick up another box. "Two of the same cores, from the same animal, person, creature, body of water and, depending on the situation, even from the same country, are considered brother cores. Two wizards who duel with brother cores are doomed from the start. They cannot fight, they _will _not fight. In fact, they end up damaging themselves in the duel through Priori Incantatem."

He did not elaborate on the subject. Instead he stood silent, waiting for Neville to catch up to what he had just said. Neville nodded in understanding, he stored the information in his mind for safekeeping, this was important, and Neville could feel it. Ollivander stood still, holding the box in his wiry old hands.

"No two wands are the same," he said, opening the box he was holding. It was a dark thin box that looked old; the inside was of purple velvet. "Try this one; I think you'll find this to your liking." He outstretched his hand, the wand placed in the middle of his middle finger and his index finger. Neville wondered why he never noticed that before. Was that a wand-maker's way of presenting wands?

He shrugged it off. Then he gently relieved Ollivander of the dark, long wand and grasped the handle. A warm feeling spread throughout him. Neville smiled, this was the one; he could feel it. Nervously, he waved the wand at the ceiling; it began to sprinkle red and gold confetti from the ceiling. Soon, the shop was bright. He had no idea why he had ever thought that the shop was dark and scary. It must've been a trick of the eye. Neville grinned happily and turned to Ollivander.

"I'll take it." he said, still smiling joyfully at the wand. His father's wand had _never_ felt that way in his hands. The magic came simply and easily for him. It felt good, not awkward as it had been for years. This made all the difference, he wished he had gotten a wand for him self earlier. Ollivander nodded and held out his hand.

"Eleven galleons and a Sickle," he said emotionlessly. Neville dug through his pockets and found the money; he just scraped through with what he had. Now, he had no Galleons, a few Sickles and ten Knuts. His situation was desperate now, he needed to find someplace to earn some money and quickly too. While he was thinking, Ollivander had rung up the order, handed Neville the box the wand belonged in and stood in the mess of wands on the floor.

"Do you know what the core to that wand is...? Mr. Longbottom?" he asked in a whisper. Neville looked at him, confused. Did he know the core... _did_ he know the core? What kind of question was that? It wasn't, "Do you want to leave for the robe shop?" or "Are you going anywhere?" Ollivander was not pressuring Neville to leave now that he had wrapped up their order. He was wondering if Neville knew the type of wand he bought.

Neville thought hard and long. Did he know? No. That was the simple answer. How was he supposed to know? Was this a test? He supposed that Ollivander must do this to every customer. Neville held the wand lightly in his hand. He felt a tingling in his hand and closed his eyes.

Ollivander's words echoed back at Neville. _"Each core is unique in its own properties. Several more known cores are unicorn hair, dragon heartstring, and phoenix feather." _Neville thought hard on this. The feeling he had in his heart was wispy, like the unicorn hair, light and pure. He knew the answer now, the feeling within him wouldn't allow his to answer any other way. His eyes shot open and he regarded Ollivander who was watching him eerily.

"Unicorn Hair... and its cherry wood, I know that from Herbology." He watched Ollivanders moon eyes widen and take in Neville with a new level of appreciation. Ollivander recovered quickly and nodded his head.

"I thought so... but couldn't imagine," He said, Neville had no clue what he was talking about. "You see, Mr. Longbottom. You are the only wizard to ever question me or comment on which wand I chose for testing. That is odd. Let me tell you more."

He folded his arms behind his back. Neville could have snorted, no matter how inappropriate the timing was, Ollivander didn't even give Neville a chance to say 'no'. "You knew what wand I was about to choose. It was a wand similar to your mothers. You second guessed me, and as it turns out, you were right. I was wrong to assume you would be like your mother just because your personality wasn't like your father's. Life isn't black and white. There's that grey area everyone is talking about.

"I find it curious and odd that you could have foreseen this. I think you may have ability, ability quite like mine. You see when I was young, my father knew when to pass the store to me, and it was when I had proven him wrong. He was shocked, you see, to be wrong. Next thing I knew, I was selling wands in this old shop."

Ollivander stroked the wall fondly and sighed, suddenly very old. "You remember what I told you about brother cores?" Neville nodded. "Good. Don't forget that. I saw your pockets, you're low on money. Care for a job?"


End file.
